


Elysium

by volatilehearted (anomalagous)



Series: like tangled roots [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Best Friends in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalagous/pseuds/volatilehearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Scott and sunny Sunday mornings in summer. Set in a somewhat undefined future. Plotless sappy fluff and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elysium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuickLikeLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/gifts).



Growing up, it had felt like they'd have all the time in the world for whatever they wanted to do. Days and potentiality had stretched out before them like the endless Elysian fields, free for carousing and whatever else a boy and his best friend would care to conquer the world with. Actually getting to _grown_ had proven that illusion a lie. Their Elysium had to come in snatches and stolen moments, little touches and fluttered glances. It was brief but that meant it burned so much brighter for it.

They'd been in college when Scott had really realized that being a True Alpha was a job by itself, and that they were so tied to the Nemeton there was no real leaving Beacon Hills. They were freshly graduated from college when they realized that while no one questioned Scott's choice in Emissary, every Pack that had built a name for itself in the country questioned his choice in Mate. The idea that his power and potential as a True Alpha would be wasted on a Mate that could never bear him pups was downright  _scandalous_ . At least three Packs had sent girls over the years to try and woo Scott away. They hadn't worked. In moments like these, like his  _now_ , Stiles could only be happy that Scott chose to squander himself on Stiles.

Mornings were not good to Stiles. Stiles did  _not_ like mornings. They were, on the other hand,  _very_ good to Scott. The window over their bed faced the East, which had been arranged for a lot of very official-sounding reasons that Stiles had linked to druidism and symbolism and the Nemeton but had  _really_ just boiled down to how hopelessly enamored Stiles had become, over the years, of the image of Scott's skin painted with the morning sun. Scott's skin was always beautiful, every part of Scott was always beautiful, but in the honey-thick light of a lazy California summer morning, he almost seemed to glow, like a demigod at rest. It upped the contrast on Scott's body until he seemed unreal, and Stiles had to reach out and touch him to be sure of his solid self.

Scott had never quite let his hair get to the unruly mess it had been Freshman year of high school, but it was long enough to show its natural curl when he was at rest, ghosting across the top of his forehead. It was sturdy hair, if there could be such a thing, and Stiles knew it. He'd spent plenty of time digging his grip into that hair. He'd made handholds for himself in that hair. He had intentions to do so again.

Rolling up onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow, Stiles glanced over Scott's body at the clock. They had time. He could indulge himself. It was so easy to indulge when it came to Scott. He leaned in, reaching up with one hand to start to scuff his fingernails through the stubble on the uneven level of Scott's jaw. Still mostly asleep, Scott made a pleased noise in the deep of his throat and pressed his face to the side, into Stiles' hand. Stiles unfolded his fingers and let them rest against Scott's face, stroking at Scott's mouth with his thumb until Scott parted his lips.

“ _Scotty_ \--” Stiles let his voice sing-song into existence, thumb still plying at the alpha's mouth until he could see the dark, deep color of Scott's eyes as he slit them open. Stiles smiled, indulgent, and leaned in to kiss Scott just as indulgently.

Scott surrendered to it for a few moments before pulling back a little big, huffing something near a laugh. “Dude, morning breath?”

“Dude, I have had the thing you pee with  _in_ my mouth, I'm fine with morning breath.”

Laughing, Scott shook his head, moving his hands out from beneath the blankets to wrap his arms around Stiles and tuck his fingers into the waistband of his underwear. “You're so romantic.”

It was almost a challenge. Not in the way that Scott meant it, although he certainly  _did_ mean to challenge Stiles sometimes. It was a challenge in the way that Stiles chose to receive it, a chance to rise above and prove to Scott that he could  _be_ romantic if given the chance and the inclination. “You want romantic? Okay, I'll give you romantic. Go brush your teeth and take a piss and when you get back I will practically  _drown_ you in romance.”

Scott laughed faintly, shaking his head again, and turned to press a kiss to Stiles' temple before he extricated himself from the bed and, scratching absently at his lower abdomen, retreated to the bathroom. Stiles watched him go, if only because it was one of the true blessings of morning, a time of day that Stiles was convinced otherwise had no advantages.

It wasn't that Scott was taller since high school, because he wasn't. It wasn't that he was more muscular, either, because again—he wasn't, really, he still struck a delicate line down the middle between lean and muscled. It was the way he'd moved that had changed, the intervening years giving Scott a confidence in his body and his own abilities that couldn't be faked. He moved like a wolf even in his human skin, with the potentiality to be dangerous that was almost never realized. Just seeing how comfortable Scott was in his mutable skin stirred something deep in Stiles to wakefulness.

He knew what to call it, really, when it grounded out between his legs.  _Arousal_ .

Water ran and plastic rattled as Scott took care of his morning routine. Stiles took the opportunity to shunt his underwear down off of his hips and thighs and discard it to the side of the bed. His body was already rallying, anticipating what might be to come when Scott returned. Stiles rolled over onto his back and stretched out like a cat, arms over his head, spine curved, eyes closed. He stayed like that, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight spilling in through the window, until a water-cool palm on the skin of his stomach alerted him to Scott's presence.

Stiles opened his eyes to the sight of his Alpha above him, allowing the fullness of his fondness reflect in his face in a way that he might have tried to have hidden, once, even with Scott, as if Scott needed to be spared from the burden of being loved by Stiles. He wasn't in that place any more. He didn't need to hide it, or hide  _from_ it. He just needed it to be.

Scott leaned in to cage him in from other side with his arms, nuzzling his face into the length of Stiles' outstretched neck. “You're really beautiful in the sunrise light. You know that?”

Sighing pleasantly, Stiles brought one of his hands down to muss it into the back of Scott's hair and down the line of his back. “I thought I was supposed to be drowning  _you_ in romance.”

“I changed my mind.” Scott admitted, his mouth pressed against the tick of Stiles' pulse. He wasn't biting, exactly, but working his lips over the skin in time with every one of Stiles' gradually increasing heartbeat. “I'm the alpha, it's my prerogative to change my mind if I want to. Besides, I know what your idea of romance is, Stiles.”

“What's wrong with my idea of romance?”

“Nothing. I love your idea of romance. But I also decided I didn't want a blowjob this morning.” Scott used one of his hands to move Stiles' chin, exposing more throat, somehow, to the tenders of his mercies. They were, by and large,  _mostly_ tender. He got all the way to the dip where Stiles' neck met his collarbones before deciding to put his mark into Stiles' ready skin. That was tender in the way Stiles most wanted tender things; tender only to a certain point, and then just a little bit filthy.

Stiles' first attempt to speak came out more a low, needy moan. He was already fully hard just from Scott's attention on his throat. It was hard to concentrate. “What's that supposed to even mean? How—how could you not want a blowjob? Nobody says they don't want blowjobs. Especially nobody says they don't want  _my_ blowjobs, I'm amazing at blowjobs.”

Scott chuckled, his smile spreading out over the skin he'd bruised with his affections. “You are pretty amazing at blowjobs. But this morning I just want  _you_ . I want to watch you under me in the sunlight, I want to watch your face when you fall apart with me. I don't wanna rush it. I want to make deep, sloppy, lazy love.”

Stiles' heart skipped beats and tripped over itself all the way from his chest down between his legs. He could feel himself twitch with wanting and he surrendered to it, to the way his body shuddered in giddy anticipation. He moved beneath Scott to fit his legs around the outside of the Alpha's body, letting his mouth curl upwards into a laconic smile at the familiar weight of Scott's hips against his own.  _God_ , he was beautiful, even now, or especially now, features alight with lust and hair already rumpled from Stiles' ministrations. He rocked to lean on one elbow, raising his eyebrows as if to ask for Stiles' opinion even as he pawed his hand down the edge of Stiles' body and rubbed the pressure of his thumbprint into the inner hollow of his hip. “ _Ohhh_ , Scotty,  _okay_ , yes, yes, let's do that, we can romance later. I want—that. That sounds good.”

Rocking upwards with his free hand, Scott stretched his body out above Stiles, reaching for the lube that had found a permanent home on their bedside end table. Stiles took the opportunity as it came to him, rising up to put his mouth on Scott's collarbone, to run wet, messy kisses down the line of one pectoral. He made his way to one of Scott's small nipples and scraped his teeth against it, feeling it perk up against his mouth. Scott's groan rumbled straight out of his chest into Stiles' mouth and he swallowed it down, accepted it as part of himself like the rest of Scott.

The bottle of lube got dropped onto the bed next to Stiles' hip, and Scott worked his way back down to cap his mouth over Stiles'. The kiss was deep and wide, like the ocean, unhurried as if Scott had all the time in the world to learn for the hundredth instance the dimensions of Stiles' wicked mouth and the origin of his snark and breath. Maybe they did have all that time. Maybe they'd make it even if they didn't have it, for moments of Elysium.

Scott seemed distracted by the way Stiles' lips molded to his own, giving and taking to arrange a perfect fit, so Stiles decides certain matters needed to be taken into his own hands. Canting his hips upwards, he grabbed for the bottle of lube, opening it to drizzle some of its contents onto his own fingers. He smeared some of it over Scott's urgent erection, so close to his own, like a promise before his hand strayed lower, between his own legs. It wasn't as good as it was when it was Scott's fingers probing and prodding at his hole, gradually opening his body, but it was still  _good_ , it would still lead to better things.

Like Scott running his hand down Stiles' body again, taking care to touch every inch between his shoulder and his groin. He worked his fingerprints into the details of Stiles' skin, dragging them down the channel where his leg met his body. Stiles couldn't help the low groan and the way he moved his legs, inviting more access. Scott pressed the warmth of his palm against Stiles' dick, rubbing gently along its length and smiling into Stiles' skin when Stiles bucked his hips upwards into it. “You're amazing, Stiles.” Scott murmured, wandering his hand lower to lift the heft of Stiles' sac in his hand. “ _Gorgeous_ . I can't get over getting to wake up to you every morning.”

Scott drew his fingers even lower, letting himself examine the place where Stiles' body stretched, smearing excess lube over them until he could ease one of his own fingers in along with Stiles'. Stiles groaned, his breath picking up speed, his heart jumping at how easy it was to pair with Scott and work with him. Even in a moment as intimate as this, the two of them working together to open Stiles' body and ready it for the alpha, they didn't need to double-check or second-guess. They moved together on instinct, pressing and stretching and tugging where he needed to be pressed and stretched and tugged. Scott pushed in deep and brushed a fingertip against his prostate, rubbing in slow, sweet circles.

Stiles tipped his head back and tried not to wail. He pulled both of his hands free to instead clutch at Scott's hips, whining at the edge of his voice. “Scotty, Scotty, come on, come on.”

It earned Stiles a nip chased by a smile, and Scott settled his weight down against the mattress, between Stiles' legs. He pulled his hand away to leave Stiles spread open and unlocked, waiting and helpless. “I love you.” Scott nuzzled into Stiles' neck, like it needed to be said, like Stiles somehow didn't know, and nudged forward until he nudged inside. He pulled down along Stiles' waist and legs, drawing his mate down around him until their bodies pressed tight and he could go no further. Scott paused, breath wet on Stiles' neck.

Letting out a low, satisfied groan, Stiles dug his fingers gently into Scott's shoulders, rubbing at the muscles there. “I could stay like this forever. Just...like this. Find somebody to feed us peeled grapes or something. We wouldn't even have to fuck, we could just  _be_ like this.”

Something benignly wicked passed over Scott's face, and he rolled his hips backwards just to ease them forward again, slow and deep. “Are you sure about that not fucking part?”

Stiles' moan was shameless, lips parted like he couldn't get them closed again. “...okay, terrible idea, definitely fuck me.”

There were days where they had conversations in the middle of sex, discussions about pack activity or politics or what they needed to pick up at Costco in the coming week. Today was not one of those days. This morning was sacrosanct somehow, too sacred for the discussion of bulk canned peaches or other people. They punctuated the air with the sound of their rhythm, casual and familiar. Scott rolled their angle until he nudged Stiles' prostate gently with every inward thrust, sparking tongues of delicious lightning in under Stiles' skin. Stiles was verbal, as he always was, rubbing his hands into Scott's shoulders and down his spine, feeling the flex of his sides as Scott moved in him, voice bubbling. “That's it, that's good,  _shit_ , you're amazing, you're so amazing for me,  _God_ , that's—there. Right there. You're so...good. Scott, you're so good, you're...”

He didn't need to give the praise. Scott didn't need to hear it. They knew it, they both knew how deeply connected they were. He said it anyway, like the words themselves were just a part of that connection, as necessary to this transaction as their sweat and the unhurried kisses that smeared along his mouth and jawline.

Scott let his hands wander over Stiles' body as the light started to gather in his belly, soothing down any time Stiles arced too far or cried out a little too loudly. He stroked his fingers along Stiles' jawline, pressed them against his sides like Stiles was made out of clay and could be molded into anything he wanted. It  _felt_ like he was that malleable, but Scott never asked him to be anything but what he already was. He only made him  _more_ of himself. He reached down to wrap his sex-slick fingers gently around Stiles' aching cock and it was like a perfect circle, a completed loop. The warmth in his belly swooped lower, gathered in the cradle of his hips around where he kept Scott, and exploded outwards into every edge and hidden place of his body. His vision went white at the edges and Scott's sweat-soaked face, dazed and watching his own, became the only thing he could see.

He gave a breathy little cry and pulsed in Scott's hand, come splashing out of him and onto their bellies. Scott gave another low chuckle, rubbing in circles over Stiles' still-twitching abdomen and his own to share their scent until it became a new, separate thing. Stiles gasped, sucking air into his lungs, and brought his hands up to anchor them down into Scott's hair. “I'm so... _so_ glad I'm yours, Alpha McCall. So glad.”

It wasn't often he brought Scott's title up in the midst of sex, or reminded him of their bond as Emissary and Alpha instead of the bond of best friends or lovers or mates. It seems to have been the right thing to do, because Scott gave a low, growly groan and shunted Stiles down until they were all but locked together. Heat surged through him as Scott came, shuddering over Stiles' body but still somehow finding the wherewithal to smooth his hand over the small of Stiles' back, rubbing in circles  _there_ instead of Stiles' stomach like it could help his body accept what Scott was offering it. The pressure and the strain there was familiar, too. It was comfortable in its own way. Stiles gave a grateful sigh and let himself go boneless beneath Scott's weight.

Scott nestled in against Stiles' body and Stiles wrapped around him, as if it were possible for him to be more  _around_ Scott than he already was. He cradled him against himself, fingers in the short hairs at the back of Scott's head when the Alpha turned his head to nuzzle into the soft part of Stiles' shoulder. “One of these days, I swear to God, Scott, I'll actually show you how romantic I can be. I swear.”

Warm air puffed against his neck as Scott laughed. “Nah,” He decided, voice thick and drowsy and Stiles could tell they were going to go back to sleep with Scott still deep inside him. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. “I don't need you to be romantic, Stiles. I like you how you are.”

“And how's that, Scotty?”

“ _Mine_ .”


End file.
